


He Wears a Crown of Iron

by Vortaesthetic



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Loki Needs a Hug, a better dad wouldn't hurt either, and a stiff drink, and better friends, but mostly that last part
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-11-13 02:28:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11175102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vortaesthetic/pseuds/Vortaesthetic
Summary: Loki’s reign is short. Perhaps this was a gift of mercy. Thor AU. WIP





	He Wears a Crown of Iron

–  
Loki’s reign is short. Perhaps this was a gift of mercy.  
Thor AU  
–

Thor is gone. Cast out upon Midgard to seek his worthiness.

The great hall ensconcing Hlidskjalf seems claustrophobic, now. Smaller, lesser. Its golden glory is tarnished.

Thor is gone, and he can only see the world through a colorless haze.

He gazes upon his feet, only to meet the eyes of his deceptive reflection in the polished granite. No other soul is willing to look upon his liar’s face.

Thor is gone, and everything is wrong.

How could he have erred do drastically?

He had never meant for this to happen!

How is it that the moment of his greatest glory shares the same space with his personal hell?

 

Mighty Gungnir weighs heavy in his grip like lead. His great golden helm feels smothering, his leather raiment coiling around him so tightly that it binds his ribs and chokes off the breath in his chest. The fact that his shoulder pauldrons and his braces are engraved with serpents seems fitting, as it feels like a snake has nestled within his ribcage and holds his lungs in its sinuous grip.

What is this? This dissatisfaction? He is realizing his greatest potential; ruling astride the Allfather’s great throne, bearing his father’s burdens. This is the day he had always dreamt of; the hour when the sun would be eclipsed and the shadows would finally be considered. In his sleeping mind, ever had this day been painted in vivid colours; bold reds, lush greens, gleaming gold and sparkling silver.

So why is it that he has been laid so low? Why does this victory ring so hollow? Why does he feel so bereft? He sighs, savoring the tight twisting of pain in his chest as he awaits his trial. He feels it coming, he will be tested. He hopes he has it in himself not to fail. – Ah, here they come. Thor’s cavalry! Thor’s loyal warrior kin!

He hears them long before he sees them; he would know them by the cadence of their footfalls anywhere. By the time they emerge into view at the other end of the Great Hall, he has taken the brittle anguish that flows through him and poured it into his spine, tempering himself into cold steel. They have taken longer than he had expected. They approach him warily, strange looks on their faces as they realize that it is not the Allfather that reigns in this hall this day, but his paltry second son. Oh, lovely Sif. So full of care for Thor, with none to spare for him. He knew her faces well. She spewed honeyed platitudes as she and her comrades took a respectful bow to their regent. They rolled off of him to no effect. He knew what she was here for, what all of them were here for, and they had every love for Thor and none for him.

“My lord, we ask if you would kindly end Thor’s banishment and return him to Asgard.” Her words were sweetened with the sugar of flattery, but her face was writ with sedition.

“I see. My friends,” he said, standing tall upon the raised dais, looking down upon the bowed heads of his brother’s cherished companions. “Though I understand your request, I cannot grant it. Thor must fulfill the terms set by the Allfather in order to return to Asgard. As his regent, my first command cannot be to undo his last.”

“Loki-” Sif interrupted, having the gall to look dismayed.

“We’re done,” he clips sharply. “The decision has been made. Do you have another matter that you wish to discuss?”

“No, my lord.”

Sif’s face neatly disguised her disgust and her distrust of him. Her giveaway was that minute tightening of her lower eyelids, that subtle thrusting of her lower jaw; these details memorized years ago when he had experienced a creeping, quiet admiration for her that had never been reciprocated. The slow, cautious way she resisted turning her back to him, like she expected him to strike was also quite telling. Her distrust was not only palpable, he could taste it. Her obstinacy was the fuel that would command the others in Thor’s absence. Time would test their loyalty.

“As you say. Thank you for the audience, my liege.”

Volstagg and Fandral seemed similarly scandalized, and Hogun’s passionless stare was as perplexing as ever. He knew with certainty that he had no friends among these. He had been tolerated perhaps, but never respected. Never valued.

He would have to watch them carefully.

This is exhausting (He wouldn’t have been burdened with this if Thor were here). The end of the day finds him gazing over the balcony watching over the crowns and spires of golden Asgard, watching for trouble even as he watches his own back. He is tired in his bones. He can feel the bags beneath his eyes sagging with every pass of his eyes over the skyline. He is a poor sentinel indeed; he watches everything and sees nothing.

Story of his life.


End file.
